


Memories Yet to be Lived

by IchiBri



Series: Sheith New Year 2019 [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Lots of tears, M/M, MINOR Allurance, Marriage, Space Whale Visions, adopted baby, s8 doesn't exist, wedding ceremony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: “If he doesn’t cry, he’s not the one.”His mom’s words echoed in Keith’s ears as he looked down the stretch of beach, past their family and friends gathered to share in this loving ceremony, to the man he was about to exchange vows with. The setting sun low on the horizon of the ocean, it cast the sky a brilliant orange and red, each streak of color like a stroke of an artist’s brush. But even more beautiful than the painted backdrop and the ambience of the lapping waves, Shiro stood tall, shoulders broad in the dark silver tuxedo jacket.--In which Keith remembers visions of the the quantum abyss while exchanging vows with Shiro





	Memories Yet to be Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt - The Future

“If he doesn’t cry, he’s not the one.”

His mom’s words echoed in Keith’s ears as he looked down the stretch of beach, past their family and friends gathered to share in this loving ceremony, to the man he was about to exchange vows with. The setting sun low on the horizon of the ocean, it cast the sky a brilliant orange and red, each streak of color like a stroke of an artist’s brush. But even more beautiful than the painted backdrop and the ambience of the lapping waves, Shiro stood tall, shoulders broad in the dark silver tuxedo jacket. With the bangs of his hair swept back, he laughed at Coran’s words so deeply he held himself at his middle.

When the drone of the crowd hushed and heads turned in Keith’s direction, Shiro was the last to notice. But when Sam nudged him with an elbow, Shiro turned. The laughter on his lips faded away, and with a blink of his eyes, he stared with such softness—such love—that Keith sniffled a breath and rolled his lower lip between the bite of his teeth.

Shiro’s lips parted on a silent gasp, and he gawked at the man he was about to marry. Baby’s breath and gerbera daisies braided into his hair, the white rose adorned to the lapel of the deep red tuxedo, and yet the most beautiful of all was the man wearing them. Shiro’s smile wobbled on his lips, parting with each awed breath. And when the first tear rolled down his cheek, he didn’t wipe it away. He tasted the salt on his lips and let each tear streak down his face with pride.

The nudge of his mother’s shoulder drew Keith’s gaze back to her, and she smiled with such devotion that all he could do was hold tighter to her arm. “He’s the one,” Krolia said. She folded her hand atop her son’s and gently squeezed. “Are you ready?”

Keith nodded, a breathless _“Yeah”_ leaving his lips.

With their first step, the breeze blew through the beach. It rustled the skirt of Krolia’s pale pink dress, the fabric flowing behind her so gracefully. It caressed Keith’s cheeks with the refreshing coolness of the ocean, and he closed his eyes to relish each gentle brush.

Upon his eyelids, he saw a vision of their future—a memory yet to be lived, a cherished promise from the quantum abyss.

Sunlight streaming through the dingy curtains of the shack, Keith blinked awake to the cast of their rays upon Shiro’s cheek. Long lashes still and the peace of sleep upon his face, each breath raised his chest and blew out in a deep exhale, the occasional grunt of a snore slipping through.

With a dopey smile, Keith cuddled closer and tucked his head against Shiro’s chest among the deep red bruises he had sucked into Shiro’s skin the night before. Shiro’s heartbeat soft in his ear and his breath caressing Keith’s hair, Keith’s lashes fell.

When Keith blinked his eyes open to the arch of the lions on the beach—Black sitting tall and proud behind his soon-to-be-husband—Keith found his way back to Shiro’s eyes. The sheen of tears reflected the sun’s glow, and yet somehow, Keith saw every star of the galaxy within Shiro’s gray irises. It was the same gaze Shiro had worn when he stared up at the night sky and confided in Keith about his dream to live life exploring the galaxies.

And now, that very gaze looked at Keith as if he was Shiro’s new dream.

“Patience, Keith,” Krolia whispered with a delightfully mirthful smile. She patted his hand, smoothing her thumb over his skin, as she held him at bay at a steady pace.

Keith ducked his head, a flush coloring the apples of his cheeks. But the itch didn’t leave his legs. The electricity coursing along his skin jolted and sparked with each thump of his heart, and without his mom’s firm hold, he’d dash the remaining strides of the aisle and wrap his arms around Shiro’s neck, kissing his lips with such deep passion that the whoops and whistles of those in attendance would fall upon deaf ears.

But that electricity, a single touch of a small hand reaching out calmed its static on his skin. Keith’s gaze tipped low to his right, and the shine of brilliant blue eyes—a spitting image of her mother’s—looked up at him with the fascination that only a child could display so purely. The curls of her mother with the color of her father bounced with the child’s excitement, and the pale green crescents beneath her eyes lifted with the radiance of her gaze.

“So pretty!” she cooed as she reached a pudgy little hand up. Far too short, she wouldn’t have reached the flowers in Keith’s hair even if Allura hadn’t swept her from the aisle and into her embrace.

Keith paused, and he brushed off Allura’s apologetic smile with a gentle curve of his lips. He slipped his hand from Krolia’s hold and reached to carefully pull a delicate red daisy from his braid.

“A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl,” Keith said as he tucked the flower into the thick locks of her hair.

She squealed her glee, and a chorus of endearing coos swept through the crowd. Her toothy grin as she leaned over Allura’s shoulder to show her daddy Lance the flower warmed Keith’s heart with another memory of the future awaiting him and Shiro.

A planet in the farthest reaches of the old empire’s domain—barely habitable after having its quintessence extracted by the Druids—neared its final collapse. The Blades of Marmora raced to evacuate the last remaining occupants before its core shattered to dust and was sucked into the vacuums of space.

Keith led the rescue efforts as a senior Blade, and in his last sweep of the planet—the ground already cracking and crumbling beneath his every step—a quiet cry drifted through the rubble of the city. Kosmo sniffed out its source, and Keith climbed through the bricks. He shouldered aside a stone slab, and beneath the collapsed support beam, a fuzzy purple baby lay trapped by the ankle.

Tiny mewls trembled through his chest. Eyes closed, he curled in on himself like a kitten awaiting its final breath.

Keith wrenched his fingers beneath the beam and heaved with all his might. He held up its weight long enough for Kosmo to grab the baby by the scruff of his neck and pull him out of harm’s way.

Keith dropped the beam, and before the dust settled, he scooped the baby into his arms and nestled him in the sash of his uniform. And as Keith finished his sweep with the baby cradled to his chest, the baby’s tail flicked to wrap around the arm holding him—the tuft of fur at its end idly swishing back and forth.

When Keith turned from Allura, her daughter waved at him and beamed so brightly her smile dimpled each cheek. He returned the wave with the same childlike curl of his fingers before retaking his mother’s arm.

His gaze swept over his friends—Hunk already bawling, Pidge and Matt shoving a tissue pack between them while both refusing to take one, Iverson nodding with a small smile when their gazes met, Klaizap standing on his chair to see. But when he looked up at Shiro, his step faltered ever so slightly at the love and adoration gazing back at him. Open-mouthed, Shiro forgot to breathe, and Keith saw the rise of his shoulders when he sucked in a stuttered gasp.

The electricity returned and surged upon his skin. It sparked each echoing beat of his heart, and bless his mother’s soul for allowing him to close the last remaining distance between him and Shiro with a half dozen quick steps.

Shiro moved to meet him, his hand already stretching out to grasp Keith’s. As their fingers touched—feathering along the pads before slipping together like puzzle pieces—Krolia ducked to kiss Keith’s cheek. He blinked, stunned by the soft press, before turning his head back to his mom. He inhaled a breath, but with too many sentiments on his tongue and not one of them coherent enough to speak, he stared with every emotion welling inside him shining bright in the violet of his eyes.

“He’s waiting for you,” Krolia said, the softness of her smile telling Keith she understood him loud and clear.

Hand in hand, they stepped together to stand before their loved ones as a single pair, no force on this planet—in the entire universe—strong enough to pull them apart.

As they turned to face each other, Keith’s gaze swept over Blue and Red—their heads bowed as the first peeks of the stars glittered alongside the fading sun. When the lions blurred into the background of his vision; he met Kolivan’s yellow eyes, and never before had he seen the hard lines of his face soften with such fond pride.

Keith had thought he’d seen it all the day he asked Kolivan to stand in for his father as his best man. The fluff of his ears flattened as he gaped for words, and for the first time, Kolivan lacked the coherency to form anything other than garbled syllables. But after an amusing few minutes and a deep, rasping clear of his throat, Kolivan crossed his arm over his chest and held his hand at his heart. With a slight bow of his head, he had said, “It would be my greatest honor.”

The white rose pinned to Kolivan’s sash blurred out of focus as Keith turned to face Shiro. “You look…” Shiro whispered, his eyes flicking to Keith’s lips, “…breathtaking.”

Keith smiled through his quiet puff of laughter. So light and airy, the weightlessness of floating on the clouds of a dream clung to his skin until so much vapor collected that the clouds parted with a midsummer rain. It poured with the light of the sun catching each raindrop, reflecting in the puddles like nostalgic camera flares. And when it passed, the colors of a rainbow arched through the sky, the deep scent of earth leaking into his lungs with the refreshing reminder that life was so much more beautiful when one embraced the rain.

With the rain wetting his cheek—a single drop rolling off his lashes—Keith’s gut clenched with the sudden wave of reality. It was no dream; his head wasn’t stuck up in the clouds. His rainbow stood right in front of him, and he could touch its colors—in the flush of cheeks, in each strand of swept-back bangs, in the faded pink and red of scars marking skin.

He ducked to wipe away the tear on his wrist, and when he looked back to Shiro, he saw a reality more brilliant than any leprechaun’s pot of gold.

Together, hands clasped, they angled to face Coran.

Dressed to the tee in Altean ceremonial wear, Coran painted a picture of soft sky blue with gold adorning the sleeveless cut and running down the fit of his chest to taper at the hem of the waistcoat and flow seamlessly into white breeches. And in typical Coran fashion, it wasn’t complete without the blue cape of sheer silk, split in a winged design to sway at his calves with each gentle breeze.

With an exaggerated clearing of his throat followed by a pointed lift of his chin, Coran opened the black leather-bound book in his hand. “We are gathered here on this quintant,” he addressed the congregation with a booming, projecting voice, “to celebrate the union of Takashi Shirogane and Keith Kogane. And without further ado, as these two already seem ready to jump each other’s _nacruus_ , will the ring bearer please present the rings?”

Keith turned to look back down the aisle. Tail wagging and front paws stamping in the sand, dragging himself forward with every impatient butt wiggle, Kosmo jumped to his feet. The black bow tie nestled in the fluff of his chest matched both Shiro’s and Keith’s, and it bounced with the bob of his head. But before he grabbed the handle of the wicker basket between the bite of his teeth, he paused to stare expectantly up at Keith.

A slow nod of Keith’s head was all it took for Kosmo to grab the basket and bound down the aisle in excited leaps and flashes through space. Each teleporting jump left sparks of blue fizzling in his wake, and under the dim evening sky, they sparkled like fireflies.

Kosmo slid to a bouncing stop in the sand, dropping to sit on his rump before bowing forward to offer the rings. Once the size of an average pup—so small Keith could cradle him in his arms—Kosmo now looked him in the eye even when seated on his haunches.

As both he and Shiro reached to ruffle the fluff of Kosmo’s cheeks—Kosmo’s eyes falling shut with his bliss, wanting to lean into each touch and settling on swaying his head between them—Keith knew his wolf pup wasn’t done growing quite yet.

Only a couple years from adulthood, the tiny baby Keith rescued from the collapsing planet grew like a beanstalk. Half-Galra, yet the Galra genes shined through in his towering size and broad shoulders. He took more after Daddy Shiro in that regard, even though he and Papa Keith shared in their Galra heritage.

Toothy grin, he smirked around the sharp point of his canines as he stood back to back with Keith. A tradition continued from childhood, now it was a cheeky ploy to rile up his papa. And it worked so well to stoke the untamed, roaring fire in Keith’s veins that Shiro played along with his own impishly delighted grin.

Shiro measured the top of Keith’s head against their son’s with the flat of his palm. Keith’s barked reminder had his son’s fluffy Galra ears—tapering to a fuzzy point at their tips like a lynx—drooping to lie flat against his head. But even with the playing field leveled, their son had five centimeters on Keith—two more than the last time.

Arms crossed over his chest, Keith’s lip jutted out in a pout fit for a toddler. But excuse him for shrugging his shoulders and sulking like a moody teenager! Was it too much to ask that his baby stay his baby forever? With a huffed breath, he didn’t think so.

But then again, as his son wrapped his arms around his middle, picking him up and swinging him like Keith used to do to him, the laughter boisterous and contagious, the collar of fur soft and plush against his squished cheek, Keith knew he’d always be his baby.

When Keith was placed back on his own two feet, his sulky frown lifted. Quietly endearing, even as his son draped an arm around his neck and laughed with the same deep guffaws as Shiro, Keith could only shake his head and side-eye his son.

Movement caught in Keith’s eyes, and as his gaze drifted toward it, he felt the press of fingers at his hip. The soft press of Shiro’s kiss to his temple eased the last heated breath from Keith’s lips, and all that remained was a gentle smile and adoring gaze.

But there was another member of their small family, and he came bounding out of thin air. A spark of blue their only warning, the three had half a second to brace for the impact of muscle and fur. They toppled like dominoes, one after the other in a heap of limbs and chuckled groans.

When the bodies settled, Keith’s hair blew across his cheek with the wind of Kosmo’s wagging tail. He leaned up on his elbows, but with the weight of a giant cosmic wolf draped across the three of them, he dropped back to the floor with a snorted breath.

Keith may have been the smallest, but he smirked—a smug satisfaction in the peek of his teeth—knowing that neither Shiro or their son could ever compete with Kosmo.

As Keith’s fingers combed through Kosmo’s fur—his knuckle brushing the band of the bow tie—he smiled with the same doting softness as his mother often directed at him. One day, Kosmo might grow to the size of a school bus, and Keith could only hope to build a ship big enough to cater to the fuzziest—the coziest snuggler, the sloppiest of kissers—in his little family.

When Keith reached for the gold band lying upon the pillow in the basket, his fingers brushed Shiro’s hand. They froze, each of their gazes wandering to the other. And with a short breath, they shared a moment of quiet laughter between them.

They each gave Kosmo one more zealous head rub before straightening toward each other. Kosmo trotted to sit at Kolivan’s heel, gazing up at the man with a look Kolivan later described as “prideful wolfish delight, an honorable companion indeed.” With rebel stealth, Kolivan stroked the wolf’s head and nodded his agreement to the sentiment being shared between them, before clasping his hands back together like nothing had happened.

When the pair turned their attention back to Keith and Shiro, they stood before Coran, hands held and lost in the promise of their future together. They heard only snippets of words as Coran announced the symbolic significance of the rings—an earthly custom he compared to some alien creature’s bonding behavior that drew quiet titters and chuckles from the crowd.

Only when Coran leaned forward to nudge the corner of his officiant book into Shiro’s forearm did he blink out of the trance of Keith’s loving eyes. Shiro almost dared to ask what the man needed before remembering—the gold glint of the rings nestled between the book’s pages catching his eye—that the ceremony required more of them than just getting lost in the universes within each other’s gazes.

Pinched between his fingers, Coran offered a ring first to Shiro. And when Shiro took it, his other hand sliding in a gentle caress to cup Keith’s palm, he held the ring at the tip of Keith’s finger. The veins of his hand jumped with adrenaline, and with every twitch, he bit harder into his lip.

For Shiro, Coran couldn’t speak fast enough.

“Do you, Takashi Shirogane, take Keith Kogane as your loving husband, to have and to hold, under the duress of galactic war and the peace of the planets at harmony…”

Plasma blasts melted through the ship’s hull, each rancid green shot sizzling with putrid smoke. Keith heaved for breath as he sat hunkered behind a control panel that offered little more than visual cover. His knuckles white in their grip, Keith tossed back his head—the cool metal against sweat-matted hair flooding his mind with the clearness of a mountain creek. He raised the hilt of his blade and pressed a firm kiss to the outline of the ring on his finger. With one final inhale, he blew out the breath before pulling up his hood and letting the Marmora mask conceal his face.

He darted from his hiding spot and sprinted down the hall. Heedless to the code of stealth in the mission—for it was lost the moment the Druids detected the wormhole in their quadrant—Keith cut down each droid with adrenaline-fueled slashes. He slid beneath a closing shutter door and scrambled for the next—the dusty red earth of the planet just beyond it.

With a whip of his blade, he threw it with a roaring snarl crawling up his throat. It lodged open the shutter, and just as the last one began to open again—the stamping clanks of more battle droids at the ready—Keith dove down the ship’s ramp, snatching his blade as he went.

He raced across the planet’s cracked clay earth with no destination in mind and the thought of escape dwindling with each plasma shot which splattered craters at his feet. And when the dark, eerie magic of the Druids sparked behind him like lightning—a strike grazing his abdomen with searing, white-hot heat—Keith’s hope of survival diminished to the glow of a single ember.

But with the wind of a lion’s roar, that ember ignited to a raging flame. Wings spread across the sky—a beacon of hope Keith smiled up at—the Black Lion fired shots from its mouth as it swooped low. In its first pass, Kosmo jumped to Keith’s side in a flash. Keith grabbed the fur of his neck, and when the Black Lion flew by the second time, Kosmo teleported them into its cockpit.

Keith staggered forward and steadied himself with a hand against the pilot’s chair. Head tipped low with a heave of his chest, he pushed back his hood and peered through his lashes to see the clench of Shiro’s jaw. When Shiro’s hard stare flicked back to Keith, his eyes softened with the worry of his heart. But with the reassurance of Keith’s hand falling to Shiro’s shoulder with a firm squeeze, Shiro turned his attention back to evading the battle ships on their tail.

“…in the long travels through far-off solar systems and the comforts of home found in the warmth of shared quarters…”

The glow of the fire burned shadows into the cave walls, and they danced with each frigid gust of air that rolled through. The wood crackled as a log collapsed to the ash, sending sparks of embers to fizzle out in the breeze.

Keith shivered beside the flames. He never did too well with the cold, but they had little choice but to wait out the blizzard. He nursed a can of broth in his hands, but even the metal had grown cold far too quickly for his liking.

A call of his name had him abandoning the soup and standing from the rock he sat on. Only a few steps behind him, Kosmo curled up in the light of the fire. Shiro leaned back into the fluff of Kosmo’s fur, beckoning Keith with an outstretched arm. When Keith took his hand, Shiro pulled him down and tucked Keith into his side. Kosmo curled closer around them, his chin resting on Keith’s thigh and his tail swishing to drape over them like a blanket.

“…through a case of the duflax flu and in the strong beats of a healthy heart…”

Keith passed a tray to his son. Only a toddler, he wobbled with the weight of the soup and tea. His tail dragged on the floor behind him, each swaying step a hairsbreadth from tripping over it. But Keith steadied him with helping hands, and he walked arched over his son toward his and Shiro’s bedroom door.

A press of Keith’s palm opened the door with a quiet swish. As they stepped into the room, blankets rustled on the bed. Shiro pushed himself up with a thin smile that barely reached the corners of his eyes. But with nostrils irritated an angry, cracked red and the congestion of his chest forcing every breath to wade through pools of mucus, it was all Shiro could muster through the pounding of his head.

Keith set the tray on Shiro’s lap as their son crawled up the side of their bed with help from his pointed claws. By now, the scratched threads of their sheets and the tiny tears in the furniture was commonplace throughout their home, and they looked at each scuff with endearment and charm. Because finally, it wasn’t just Kosmo tearing up their things.

Tail flicking beside him, their son sat on folded legs and eagerly reached to help his daddy open the pack of saltine crackers. The plastic crinkled and wrinkled, and it took a preemptive rip of Shiro’s help to keep the crackers from flying all over the blanket.

As Shiro offered to share a cracker with their son, his fluffy ears twitched forward and he beamed a toothy smile that healed Shiro’s soul of every last dark thought brought upon by the misery of sickness. He lifted the saltine to his lips and bit through its corner. But Shiro’s chews paused with a curious flick of his eyes when Keith’s weight dipped the mattress.

Keith swept the matted bangs from Shiro’s forehead, his touch refreshingly cool against the heated skin. And when he leaned closer to press his lips to Shiro’s temple, Shiro met him halfway with a tilt of his head. Shiro’s eyes fell shut, and a gurgling hum vibrated from his chest.

But Keith wasn’t the only one who wanted to shower Shiro with love. Their son bounced to his feet. He stretched out on his toe pads, a tiny hand bracing himself on Shiro’s shoulder, to smooch his daddy’s cheek in a cracker crumb kiss.

“…so long as you both shall travel across the galaxies and long after the days of adventure are behind you?”

The scruff of Shiro’s beard—scraggly, a week overdue for a clean trim—grazed Keith’s jaw as the gravelly words of a challenge heated Keith’s earlobe. As Shiro pulled back with a devilish smirk, Keith stepped forward to follow. With a puffed chest and squared shoulders, Keith leveled his lifelong love with a growled taunt of his own that had Shiro’s brow twitching.

But before Shiro’s teeth could curl around a provocative remark, Keith turned for his hoverbike and swung a leg over the seat. The engine thrummed to life, and a flick of Keith’s wrist on the handgrip had it roaring out a battle cry. Keith tipped his head and arched a daring eyebrow at his husband. They weren’t getting any younger, he silently jeered.

Back in the desert where it all began, their skin cracked like the earth, and the marks of battle and life cut into their flesh with every year they lived. Shiro sported a gash cutting through his left eye which drained the color to a pale gray, and Keith wore the scar which sliced open his chest and trailed over his collarbone like a badge of honor.

_‘You saved me’_ , _‘We saved each other’_ was the code they lived by.

The rev of Shiro’s engine started the countdown to their race. Timed to the synced beat of their hearts, they sped off in a rolling cloud of dust like they were teenagers stealing the Garrison officers’ hoverbikes for the first time. But they were veterans to breaking into the hangar, and long after they retired from military service to float through the galaxies like a pair of bums, they still scaled chain-link fences and hot-wired ships when all they truly needed to do was input their still functioning passcodes.

But where was the thrill in that? With the wind whipping through their thinning hair, they chased after the drunkenness one found in the heat of battle; and racing up narrow mountain paths with veering turns and steep cliffs sent a rush of adrenaline through their veins that they grew addicted to long before they ventured out into space.

Their path widened, and they raced side by side. Keith tipped a confident smirk at Shiro when the mountain dropped off into the skyline—the beautiful orange and yellow of the sunset dusting the horizon. He sped faster, and he heard the throaty holler as Shiro threw back his head and matched Keith’s foolhardy pace.

Neck in neck, they soared into the sunset, suspended with the echo of their laughter filling their ears. When they dropped, Keith felt the rush of air blowing the tail of his leather jacket—worn and cracked with age, a perfect fit when once it drowned Keith, a memento of their first race when it clung to Shiro’s shoulders and Keith chased after it through a trail of dust.

“I do,” Shiro choked out, the two simple words as thick and watery as the tears rolling down his cheeks. With a slow slide, he pushed the ring over Keith’s knuckles and settled it at the base of his finger. The gold blurred in his vision, and when his gaze trailed higher over Keith’s onyx waistcoat and past the bow tie and the wobble of his lips, Shiro blinked through the tears clinging to his lashes.

His tongue formed around three words, and he uttered them like a silent prayer to the gods that only his lover could hear.

Keith’s breathy exhale rang more like a sob in his ears. He squeezed Shiro’s hand as if he could communicate every beat of his heart to Shiro—how it pounded like drums and rattled the bars of his ribs, how with each beat it sang a melody that sprouted sunflowers in his chest and they weaved through his ribs to bloom under the love and warmth of his sun, of Shiro.

And somehow, through the connection of their sweaty palms and tear-stained eyes, Keith communicated it loud and clear.

When Coran offered Shiro’s ring to Keith, Keith took it and held it like a precious, fragile thing, as if he held Shiro’s beating heart in his hand. He looked down at Shiro’s fingers and blinked through the haze of his tears to place the ring at the tip of the proper finger.

“Do you, Keith Kogane, take Takashi Shirogane as your loving husband, to h—”

“I do.”

Keith surged forward. He slid the ring on Shiro’s finger with fervid haste before his hands reached for his face. Pushing up on his toes, he captured Shiro’s lips and tasted every salty tear which wet them. Strong arms wrapped around his back, fingers digging into his tuxedo jacket and entangling in the hair at the base of his braid—kneading and pulling until strands frayed and a daisy fell behind them.

The grinding of metal joints was the only warning before the Black Lion raised its head in a mighty roar. Yelps and sharp shrieks sounded from the audience, and Coran jumped off the ground in his fright. But as everyone looked to the lions, Shiro and Keith only had eyes for each other.

With the sky darkening to a deep orange—its gradient reaching across the horizon, constellations dotting night’s path—Shiro bowed his forehead to Keith’s. Their sobs and sniffling breaths quaked their shoulders; and with every trace of Keith’s thumb over Shiro’s jaw, every caressing squeeze of Shiro’s hand at his nape, they cried harder at the sheer love and bliss radiating through them.

For in every shared breath, every brush of lips, every blubbered word of endearment, they saw a future they desperately wished to grasp on to. And now, with the rings’ weight wrapped around their fingers, they held tight to the memories yet to be lived, to the child yet to be loved, to the adventures yet to be had, to the worlds yet to be explored.

With the roars of all five lions echoing like the tolls of church bells, they tipped forward and slotted their lips together once more. Slow and without haste, with no heed to their loved ones’ presence, they kissed with the taste of their future on each other’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> You can find me @ichibri on Twitter & Tumblr


End file.
